Save, Kiss, Run
by FluffySpook
Summary: Fluff post 10.5, no spoilers or speculation for 10.6. It disregards the plot a bit really. ;
1. Chapter 1

_**Not really sure why I wanted to write this. Spoilers for 10.5 but not 10.6. This wont happen in 10.6 and completely disregards the plot but I thought HEY why not ;)**_

_**LEO IS RUTH'S NEW CAT ;)**_

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><p>"<em>Go home – rest, sleep. There's nothing you can do for him now. Believe me Ruth, if there was, I'd be helping you do it."<em>

She has to admit, Towers' loyalty to Harry supersedes his inability to deal with anything else in his job straightforwardly, like a normal person. He'll bicker and he'll insist and he'll disapprove but one thing he will never do is condemn her for loving her ex-boss. Somehow he understands. So when he tells her that this time they wont win, she believes him at once because she trusts him. She takes her bag and her files and she goes home. They will both try to find news of Harry in the morning though she knows he knows it's futile.

It wouldn't help, even if she did find him. He kissed, he left – he even told her not to visit him or offer evidence. Indirectly he asked her to move on. And at home now, as she reaches the front door, part of her has decided she has little choice to do much else. There's no-one in this house except her and there never has been; the toaster is out where she left it this morning, the basket of washing is on the sofa and Leo's food bowl has not been refilled. There is no-one to hold her when she walks in on these cold nights. The only person that ever could be is in a cell, miles away, probably cold and probably alone.

Shoes and coat off, she pads into the hallway and switches the light on to collect the days mail – just bills, insurance junk and more Christmas magazines from companies she swears she never even subscribed to. Still, Leo is there to wind himself around her legs and demand cuddles or food – probably the latter – before trotting off in the direction of the kitchen. Pausing to open the first envelope she hears what sounds oddly like coughing, faintly, and very, very briefly. Instantly she knows something is wrong, and is surprised she didn't spot it before – there is no light coming through the gap of the sitting room door. The lamp in there is on, as it should be, but the gap between the door frame and hinges is black. Though Leo pays it no attention she feels every muscle in her frame tense. It's not as if she can fake never coming home; she's made too much noise. She can't go around the back; they'd hear her leaving though the front.

With nothing but her clenched fists, she runs into the sitting room before they step forward and clasp her from behind.

She faces them and they lurch suddenly, as does her fist.

But it falls against a firm shoulder and they find her neck before she can move away. Twisted with her back tightly pressed against their chest, their right hand – not gloved – hugs her mouth and she cannot bring herself to bite it. Instead she ruthlessly forces her right elbow backwards and meets the intruder's torso. Male; he growls at the impact. About five foot ten, heavily built, and not young or overly muscular; his stomach is soft. The blow is enough to force him one step backwards which provides the only leeway she needs to sharply spin around and go for another strike, which she does, but stops instantly as he raises his hand.

The words just can't be found. He looks so, so scared.

"Ruth..."

She strides forward, gasping, and takes him in her embrace, kissing the side of his head, oblivious – for now – to the bruising and the cuts by his eyes. She holds him there as his arms follow hers and pulls her closer than he ever has done before, head drooped her shoulder. They're panting furiously. After a long moment she releases her hold slightly and keeps one hand on his cheek.

He knows she's seen the damage as soon as that soft, familiar and gravely concerned frown settles in and takes over everything she was about to say. Her hands glides from his cheek to his eye and strokes his brown and purple skin.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he encourages, and puts one hand low under his breast, "Though I think my spleen may be a little worse for wear after that blow. You're bloody strong Ruth."

Her attention finds his smile, and she gradually smiles back.

"Sorry... you scared me."

"Yes I'm not entirely sure why I hid behind the door," he admits, "I could have made myself a cup of tea and flicked the box on. You're cat's not a great guard cat."

The feline in question watches them from the table, patiently.

"How did you get in?" she asks, glancing to the window, "Actually, no. How did you get _out_? Of CIA custody."

"Your ex-colleagues gave me a hand."

She opens her mouth, but pauses briefly.

"And you came... here."

The tone – unintentionally irritated – twists his face with guilt. Dipping, he swallows and she instinctively steps forward. For some reason she takes his cold hand which lifts his dark brown eyes to her own, and he stares, hopeful, if anything.

"I can't go home," he says, pained, "You're the only I can turn to. You're the only one I _want_ to turn t..."

Her face is so close, the words dissolve in the hot space between them and before he can begin again, she closes the gap and steals one kiss. Short, impulsively. Immediately afterwards his left hand finds the small of her back and he leans in faster and meets their lips again, parting them with his tongue now, as she allows him in. Carefully to avoid the bruising she inflicted, efficiently, her hands slide between his torn blazer and his shirt and snake up his back, to hold herself against him as he unconsciously uses his weight to push her against the back of the sofa. Somewhere in her head she knows this is too dangerous. But she can't pull herself away until it's imperative – at the need for oxygen.

He looms over her, never appreciating until now how much physically bigger he is than her. One hand removes itself from his back and comes to rest against the tight cotton of his shirt on his chest. He looks down at it.

"It was always for you," he whispers and she frowns. He peers up and tucks one brunette strand of hair behind her ear. "My heart." She curls the tips of her fingers slightly at his words as that uncomfortable god-forbidden feeling of tears begins to rise. "I could never have lost it to Elena," he smiles, "I could never have lost it to my country, either, Ruth. It was always for you."

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><p><em><strong>More soon, if you would like? Aiming to finish by Saturday. <strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Naww thank you everyone :)**_

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><p>Letting all the pasts mistakes, angers and suppressed feelings settle and slowly begin to trickle away, they stand together like that for a sustained moment. She counts the firm beatings of his heart under her palm, finding something new and strangely comforting in the fact that each thump is for her. Leo waits patiently, eyeing these two with suspicion – their only witness.<p>

Static, her hand remains on his chest when she pulls herself reluctantly from the imagined future she could take them into right now.

"Harry, you're not safe here."

He swallows and sighs, still towering over her small frame like a barrier, of sorts.

"I'm not safe anywhere." Flat toned he continues and the pressure of her hand weakens slightly. "Elena knows about us which means you're not safe either."

She'd never thought of it. Not like that.

"Elena?"

Suddenly for the first time in her life, she thinks she can see where the conversation will take them. He explains,

"She'll tell Ilya. Ilya will tell Sasha, if he wants, if he doesn't already know. Ilya can tell _whoever_ he wants. A man of his status, with such knowledge, is a threat to us."

Her hand falls away and he steps backwards as their world becomes grey, and frightening once again. Leo leaves the table and disappears. After a pause, she looks him over meticulously – his bruising, the dry blood around his nose and on the lips she just kissed. She looks at his clothes. She looks at the clock. Half past ten.

She realises there stands one option and one option only. He knew what it was – probably from the moment he escaped – but would never voice it until she had realised and absorbed the ridiculous magnitude of the risk they knew was right. He saw everything he felt in her expression; dread, a crumbling denial. But most importantly he saw hope.

"Where," is all she says. But he can't answer immediately, for the most basic reason. "Harry if we're going to run..."

"I know," he closes his eyes to block the burning image of the anxiety in hers. "I know Ruth."

"What do you have?" she asks, snaps into motion and paces over to her dresser to pull open the furthest draw. He stays completely still. "I'm guessing you don't have your passport."

"I don't have anything but the clothes I stand in."

There's too much paperwork in the draw, and cards, and old mobile phones. Eventually though she finds the tattered burgundy booklet and places it on the table with her car keys and handbag. It's all going too fast but the chain of events has started and now he's suddenly awake, at her side, breathing quickly.

"Ruth are you sure?" he asks as if he's in more pain than she interpreted from his injuries. But what he expresses is little more than straightforward fear. So she turns to him, quashes the slight tremble in her throat and nods.

"I'm sure. Now, I'm going to pack a bag with a few essentials. While I do that you wash your face, bathroom's upstairs, and you leave your jacket behind. The cuts and bruises look suspicious enough without torn clothing."

As obediently as he ever has been, he follows her immediately upstairs. This is hardly what he wanted, he thinks. The amount of times he's pictured Ruth's house, her upstairs, her bedroom and why they'd be there yet this is how it arises – in preparation of escape. Now they're running.

"In there," she throws an arm in the direction of the bathroom and disappears into her bedroom.

He can hear her gathering clothes together in her room as the water splashes heavily into the sink. Knowing that she wont have need for it again, he takes her flannel, submerges it into the lukewarm water and lifts it to his forehead where there is the ever so slight residue of blood still dusted into the hairline. It's not until the droplets kiss the open cuts by his eye and lip does he snarl as the stinging ruthlessly invades his nerves. It hurts more than he thought it would but with clenched teeth he follows her logic until all the dry blood is clean from his face and the water at his hands is a pinkish red. On cue, she enters the bathroom and behind her in the landing he can see her bulging rucksack, ready to go.

"Food." She blurts.

"What?"

"Food. Mundane, but essential. You must be starving and we don't know when we'll be stopping for food next – when did you last eat?"

"Ruth we don't have time. And I'm not hungry."

"But – "

"Look, the boys who handled me in custody must have been close friends with Coaver, or they just naturally hated my guts – literally. Whatever the justification, they felt compelled to break a few ribs while they had the time, and I just feel sick, still. I _can't_ eat. It'd be a waste of time trying. We need to leave now."

"Oh Harry... I didn't realise..."

"I know," he steps forward and envelops her warm hand with his own fresh and clean one. "I was concussed for a while. The treatment was... brutal, to say the least. But I'm alright Ruth. I'm breathing. And as long as I am, I can run." Her eyes fall to his chest again. How is it he can hide all this so effortlessly? Emotional torture as well as physical? Without another word they make for downstairs. She gathers her purse, passport, coat, phone and he abandons his blazer in her fire, setting light to it and making sure the remains are mixed with old ash before they leave. Leo – nowhere to be seen – is left fresh food. It's briefly distressing, but she knows he will be alright as all cats seemingly always are. In a quick moment she remembers Fidget.

She makes a point of being last out of the house, but is sure not to look back at it as they clamber into her car and leave the drive. They don't know where they're going. But they're going there together. The one look he shoots her as they leave the street forever tells her it will be ok.

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><p><em><strong>I don't know where they're going either. ;)<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hmm, the previous chapter is quite possibly the weirdest chapter I've ever written. Anywho, thank you for the reviews! :] Making this up as I go... can you tell? :P**_

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><p>"This could be the most ludicrous thing I've ever done," Harry admits to the car floor as they approach the glaring lights and straight, endless roads of the motorway. "And I've done quite a lot."<p>

She smiles, unable to meet his eyes that almost flash as the orange street lights momentarily flood the car with bright beams. It's relatively quiet but they're both checking, consistently, in the mirrors on the off chance they've picked up a tail who struck lucky as they left her house.

"I bet you never thought it'd end like this," she replies as they slide over to the fast lane, "Fleeing from a country you've spent most of your career protecting."

"That's true," he sighs, "But more importantly, I never thought it'd end with you."

"That can be said for the both of us."

Lost in hazy thought, he sighs, staring at the left wing mirror. "You know, I wasn't even sure you'd go through with this," he says. The gravity of the comment is strong enough to bring her eyes from the road to his expression for the first time. To be honest, she wasn't sure in the moment she decided either. But here, now, she can see it's right.

"I trust you," she offers a gentle smile, "I couldn't leave you."

"You've left everything behind. Again."

"As have you," she replies quickly, "Difference is, we're together this time. And isn't that the point."

He smiles back, and nods confidently.

"Yes, I believe it is."

They let the truth of the moment remain between them, the same volume as the deep rumble of the car running over the tarmac at 80mph before she speaks again.

"Do you actually have a plan?" She switches to the left lane again, noticing how as he rests, his right hand tugs the seatbelt away from his body. "You ok?"

Uncomfortably, he shifts in the seat and slips his left hand under the shirt, poking tenderly with a quick wince hidden by the dark for anyone who wasn't looking for it.

"Yes," he groans, "I'm fine."

"Harry I think you're in a worse condition than you're admitting. I should take you to a hospital." But as soon as the words leave her mouth she sighs and shakes her head as she so often does, knowing they can't risk anything at all but leaving the country. "Well at least let me have a look, when we've reached... wherever it is we're going."

He goes to reply – probably to refuse her instruction – but as he does so, his gaze finds the mirror and he painfully lifts his shoulders round to see out of the back window.

"Your inspection's going to have to wait for now," he turns back to her, "We've got a bigger problem."

"What?" she follows his gaze to the blaring headlights of the black Jaguar behind them, "That's not...?"

"I'm afraid it is."

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><p><em><strong>More soon (hopefully longer) ;)<strong>_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I say again –you're all so lovely! Thank you.**_

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><p>There is quite literally nowhere to hide.<p>

And it doesn't matter how fast they race towards the city-lit horizon, the Jaguar gains. Faster.

Faster.

"Take the next junction off," he orders firmly, "we'll have to lose them where the traffic is denser. It'll be fine."

"Fine? Forgive me Harry but I fail to see the logic." She overtakes a white Volvo at increasing speed, the tail close behind – occupants of the vehicle almost invisible.

"I have passport, and money, in answer to your previous question about having a plan," he explains, "In a safe house which – luckily for us – is relatively close. I can direct you if you drive as fast as you can."

The grave silence of her reply is all he needs as the cat lights zoom past like flickers of exploding fireworks, the engine screaming as the wheels burn along the road. He knows, eventually, the tail will catch up. The fact that they're doing so already as opposed to following at the same speed blatantly implies it's a hunt, and they won't stop. Whoever 'they' are. She finds the junction as the tail becomes close enough to ram the car, and God decides they deserve a chance, putting a large red four by four between them that slows, for whatever reason. They make the traffic lights at the welcoming roundabout and head further into the west of the city again. There is a brief moment, as they take another turning, where Harry opens his mouth to claim victory. But Ruth cuts him short,

"They're behind the taxi," her hands grip the wheel so tightly the blood ceases to reach past her knuckles, "Harry they're going to find us."

"Just keep going, next right," he presses, and she does without hesitation. Two cars miss them by a hairs width, a pedestrian leaps from the road yelling abuse - rightly - as they surge further into town. Fast, faster. And the enemy not too close but close enough to trace their path with gaining confidence.

"It's near a large set up of flats. Down here," he points as the roads get gradually smaller, the engine louder, "Follow this road to the box junction and turn left."

She does so, hastily having to break as a van charges towards them avoiding roadwork cones.

"They're still there Harry!" she struggles to speak without the nerves cutting up her words, focusing it seems more on the mirror than what's ahead. "We're not going to outrun them!"

He points to the next street, the tyres bite the tarmac to hold on, "You're doing brilliantly so far Ruth."

"What do we do when we get there?"

"We'll have to ditch the car before we do," he replies, equally as panicked now as they reach a straight and the tail quickens to meet their speed. "And run."

"Run?" they screech around a sweeping corner, she thumps down the accelerator but the brake soon after as a motorbikes pulls out and swerves. As a result, it falls behind their car, causing the tail in turn to swerve and mount the pavement briefly. But recovered, the driver pushes on and ruthlessly thunders down the streets for his victims, now more of a fading red light in the distance. Before he can determine exactly which break lights are theirs, they have taken another turning into a maze of side streets. He follows and by the time he catches the target, the car is abandoned messily at the roadside and the runaways lost to the night.

"Here!" Harry shouts as they emerge from an alley to a quieter street, Ruth at his side panting with her rucksack gripped tightly in icy sore hands. Quite unbelievably the key is hidden behind a loose brick to the side of the blackened window, which he takes and rams the door open recklessly before pulling her inside where they stand - finally safe – in disbelief, watching the icy air transform their heaving breath to smoke-like ghosts in the unlit hallway.

She drops her rucksack to the floor, one hand over her mouth before she wipes her forehead and allows the wall to take her weight, falling back on it, legs weak but adrenalin still raging through her tired system. In catching their breath they say nothing. She doesn't even look around, simply relieved and unspokenly stunned that she's brought them to safety. The gratitude is evident in his expression as he looks to her without any single remark, leaning on the dusty chest of draws - the only furniture evident in this cold, dead safe house. Their frantic gasping provides the only life in the building until finally, eventually, they stand straight and stare at each other. Naturally, they act before they speak. She falls into his arms as he opens them almost as if it's practised. He holds her there, breath slower now but heart still pulsating against his aching insides through his muscles, bones, skin and shirt so fiercely she can feel it against her chest. She hadn't noticed before, in her house, the size difference created between them when he curls one arm around both of her shoulders easily in one sweep. Her hands struggle to meet around his frame but she doesn't force them – all the while they were running, he had one hand to his ribcage.

"How long," she mumbles to his chest, "How long do we have here?"

"Minutes."

Gingerly she separates their bodies and smiles at how quickly they've become accustomed to sharing each other's warmth.

"Do you think they'll really have followed us here?" she asks, praying he'll take the hint for her sake as well as his own. "You're running on empty Harry. Me, not so much. You have to rest."

"Ruth – "

"It's called a safe house for a reason."

"Circumstances are somewhat different this time I think you'd agree."

"It's still a safe house," she presses, "And we weren't followed here."

That much is true, he'll admit in silence.

"Please Harry, there must be a bed or something in this place. You need to rest. Don't think I haven't noticed you're still in pain."

"I'm fine."

"No. You haven't slept for what – forty eight hours?" And dropping her smile at his feet, she lifts her rucksack and walks away to the adjacent room, which in turn is revealed as what was once probably a sitting room. He follows as she taps the sofa, thickly blanketed in dust in the same fashion as the carpet, curtains, floorboard and dim metal lamp. "At least rest your eyes. Just for ten minutes while I see if we've any running water in this place, and I'll have a look for your emergency passport."

He's always loved this about her. Whatever the situation, however absurd or testing or dangerous, she will see the logic no one else can, take it, and fashion an answer from it. He knows it's in his best interest to listen. She's right; his ribs blaze with his bruised muscles. Like a child, he drags his feet to the sofa and collapses onto it. Within two minutes, he is asleep.

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><p><em><strong>More soon.<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Ok, maybe this wont be finished before LE GRAND FINALE tonight. Anywho...**_

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><p>The temptation to allow him rest hangs between her and him now as she stands – his fake passport and three hundred euro's in hand – over the sofa, watching, smiling. This is first time, she suddenly realises with satisfied heart, she has ever seen him sleeping.<p>

Unfortunately she knows his impatience was justified as soon as they entered. If they knew of this safe house inevitably someone else would and – as always – it's a matter of time before the door is kicked down and they're held to account. Beaten, no doubt. And while she knows she could withstand monumental amounts of CIA-style torment should the worse come to worse, the state he lies in now tells her he wouldn't last. Not long anyway. He's one an hour. As she sits beside him and begins to stroke his face gently, she thinks loud and clearly – _temporary suffering for long term benefits_.

"Harry," she says. He doesn't stir. "Harry. Harry wake up."

In her stranger moments she would chuckle at the odd noises she'd make when she woke up. Sort of baby dinosaur like noises. It's ridiculous, and something she hardly ever thought would happen, but he does the same as he finally stirs from the such unconcerned sleep and opens his eyes, pupils large and searching as they meet her face. Though she can't tell fully, his heart explodes with happiness; he has dreamt for years of the moment he'd wake and her face be the first thing he'd see. She greets him with a smile and waits for his vision to register the low light until he can open his eyes fully before he attempts to sit up straighter.

"Hi," she says, hand on his shoulder.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling now? I'm sorry, you haven't been asleep very long."

The sting of the fragile rib bones decide he is undeserving of comfort as soon as he's awake, and begin to throb instantly.

"I'm..."

"Don't say fine," she sighs. "Don't." And his stillness confirms she knows him so well now.

"You've got the passport then. And - blimey, how much?"

"Three hundred Euro's." She hands him said items. "Did _you_ choose the name Liam Henry Oaks?"

He opens the passport and laughs.

"Not that I can recall."

"Good; I can't see you as a Liam."

His face turns suddenly serious, "Is your passport under your real name?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

He nods, slipping the burgundy booklet into his pocket.

"It's fine, we just need to be careful. We can travel as businesses partners."

As quickly as a change of wind, the soldier in him activates - he stands, poised, ready to go. It takes her by surprise and she stays sitting.

"Harry, wait. Before we go... now would be a good opportunity for me to have a look – "

His glare cuts her off. But she holds it. This is something they can at least claim they're practiced at. Ultimately, after a long moment, she just says 'please?' so earnestly it brings him to the sofa again, uncomfortably, and she thanks him.

"Lay out," she encourages, and moves to kneel on the floor. Without taking his eyes off her he does so until he's horizontal.

"Do you need me to take my shirt off?"

"I... er, no. It's fine."

"Because I don't mind. Really, Ruth."

"No. It's cold enough in here already."

He smirks.

"Have it your way."

In all honestly she's made it difficult for herself and technically not really avoided embarrassment. She's gentle but thorough as she meticulously presses two fingers between the bones under his flesh, and he flinches almost every time, so she gasps 'sorry!' and hastily moves downwards. By the time she's completed the left side, his taught expression is enough to push her hands away.

"Diagnoses, nurse?" he teases and mentally blocks the pain.

"I'd say the last three are broken," she replies, "Would you like me to have a look at the other side?"

"Would _you_ like to?"

"Harry..."

"Sorry. Not the time or place is it. I'll never get that right."

Sometimes, just sometimes, she wonders why she can't overstep this line she's drawn for herself. It used to be a barrier. Now it's literally good for nothing, but it's still there and enforces her hesitance.

She says nothing.

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><p><em><strong>More soon if you think it's worth continuing. Nervous about tonight!<strong>_


	6. Chapter 6

_**So it seems there are a few of us online anxious about tonight. Pactum serva guys ;)**_

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><p>They pack up what few things they've acquired from the house – money, passport, a torch that actually works – before they leave silently, still shadows to the imminent dawn and rest of London. From the back of the complex they find a previously unexplored street that leads them to what looks like a derelict garage where there must be over two-hundred discarded ruined cars, vans, motorbikes and trucks. It soon becomes obvious Harry has lead them here intentionally. Slipping through the rows of rusty metal boxes Ruth follows briskly until they reach a three door dark blue Peugeot 106, resting isolated from the majority of the scrap yard. The key he finds in the unlocked boot and she decides not to ask how it's never been stolen before now. They clamber in, he takes the wheel, and they hold their breath to see if the battered thing will even start. Mercifully, it does.<p>

They drive for about a minute before she speaks, asking where they're going. It was decided sometime all those hours ago back in her house that the airport was the only option. From there they know they can be safe at least for a while. They have money, passports, each other. Even the sun seems to agree with them as it glows over the waking city.

"Is it wrong," she says softly as they hurtle towards the airport, "That I'm enjoying this?"

"This?"

"Our escape."

"No. I don't think it's wrong; I'm enjoying it too."

The check-in is tense to say the least even for them. In the frantic mix of everything just been, they both subconsciously put aside their appearances and it's not until they're passing security does she register the odd looks they're receiving , constantly, from the security officers. What kind of business trip does one attend dressed like that?

"Someone's been in the wars ey Sir," notes the man running his hands down Harry's arms as he's stopped and searched after setting off the machine, typically.

"Sorry?"

"Or has your wife been givin' you a hard time?"

_Oh, the bruises. Very funny._

Ruth – too far away to register the conversation – slips on her shoes and waits patiently as the man moves from Harry's arms and shoulders to his main body. Oblivious to fractured bone underneath, he presses forcefully enough to result in Harry's jerking away as if he's suffered some sort of violent electric shock.

"Ow!"

Face awash with mystification but seemingly no remorse, the security officer pulls back.

"Sorry..." Harry continues as Ruth approaches his side, "I'm a little sore. I er..."

"Rugby injuries." Ruth states, blank faced, firm. "Hence the bruises."

They take it no further and scuttle off before she bursts into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

By the time they reach the waiting lounge the situation has become very surreal. Like the moment before a black out, everything is a strange bright white and reality itself seems to switch between what's here right now, and the future they're heading towards. Finally after having eaten enough for ten in the empty cafe, they sit quietly and excited by the window staring towards the runways. Here there are no CCTV camera's they are aware of that can watch them as they wait.

"I've never been to Italy," Ruth says, sipping a cool bottle of water. "I think it's a good place to start. What made you choose it?"

He shrugs, "I'm not sure. I went there once as a child and I've never forgotten how I felt about it. I planned that if I managed to retire before I was shot then I'd move there."

A quieter moment follows before she looks down at where his hand rests limply and takes it in her own. Why it's taken this long to do so is a question she supposes will never be answered. He curls the fingers of his larger paw with hers and they fit effortlessly. Whatever has happened and whatever is yet to happen, this, if anything, is right.

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><p><span>Epilogue<span>

She lays on her back, book in hand, but eyes closed as the sun crawls it's way up her legs and warms her body in almost the same way Harry does. Around her she is mildly conscious of children and their mothers exclaiming speedy Italian as they drop their ice creams into the sand, or insist on plastering on vast amounts of sun cream. It sounds busy but in reality the beach is virtually empty and really just how she's always dreamt of it – alive but somehow peaceful.

At the sound of approaching footsteps by her side, she lifts off her sunglasses and squints up at the bulky figure, clad only in red trunks, standing over her. He smiles, she smiles back, and hands him a towel to absorb the droplets of cold sea water that roll of his body before he takes his place next to her and lies down. She abandons the book she hasn't looked at for half an hour and perches upright, balancing on one shoulder. He knows as he peeks at her sun kissed skin through one eye, that she's returning the favour and before she can stop herself, her hands begin to trace patterns over his chest and stomach in unison with her eyes. They find each scar and smooth it over like she did they first time he revealed himself to her.

"Do you know," she says, "there's one question I ask myself everyday and I still haven't worked out the answer."

He shuffles under her hand but she holds him still and he laughs.

"What's that then Ruth?"

He notices how her hand stops moving over his heart.

"Why we didn't do this sooner."

"Run away to Italy? Well, we were civil servants for one..."

"No Harry. You know what I mean."

He sits up with her, takes her hand on his chest in his own, leans in and pushes their lips together. Every time he does so it's somehow different. He tastes the same but it's like he's telling her that he loves her in a slightly different way.

"I don't honestly know either," he admits as their foreheads rest together. "Love is a strange, strange thing."

"Yes," she agrees and then her tongue is entwined with his for a moment, "But it's a beautiful thing too."

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><p><em><strong>End. Fingers crossed for tonight everyone. PACTUM SERVA!<strong>_


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